


for wandering souls

by ohlawsons



Series: cat nua [12]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/F, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Pillars Prompts Weekly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohlawsons/pseuds/ohlawsons
Summary: A collection of fics written for @pillarspromptsweekly on tumblr, for the ones that are too short to really post on their own. Features various watchers and pairings, each of which are noted in chapter titles!Update 06: prompt 0031: inquisitor [owain]





	1. Prompt 0008: Roll For It 02 [Anwyn & Eder]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for prompt 008: Roll For It 02. I got _Eder + wine + questions_ , and instead of using Neria -- which would be the easiest and provide the maximum amount of fluff -- I went with Anwyn.
> 
> Anyway. This is long overdue and between work and Nano I've really fallen behind on fic, but I did finally finish this so hey, that's something.

Anwyn watched the crowd gathered in the Black Hound, one hand idly stroking Morwenna’s head while the other tapped against her half-empty glass of wine. 

They were a… _ lively  _ bunch, Dyrwoodans, and the rowdy group in the inn was the most small-town-backwoods group that she’d seen in a long time; not that she  _ minded _ , really, because she’d seen far worse in the years she’d spent traveling Eora and Gilded Vale, at least, had a sort of charm to it.

It was a hostile, murderous charm, but it wasn’t  _ boring  _ and really, that’s all Anwyn could ask for.

Her silent people-watching was broken as someone sat at the seat next to her, a tall blond human she’d seen when they’d first made their way into town. Since he clearly hadn’t picked up on the air of hostility that Anwyn was so carefully projecting, she arched an eyebrow and gave him a pointed glare. “Yes?”

“Surprised the two of you are stickin’ around, after that warm welcome earlier.” He glanced over at Morwenna, but there was none of the hesitance or distaste that Anwyn had come to expect. “Most folks woulda headed out already, but it looks like at least one of you has made yourself comfortable.”

Anwyn followed his gaze over to her brother, seated at a corner table with the wizard he’d met earlier; they were deep in discussion, Owain making wide, enthusiastic gestures as he spoke while Aloth nodded along politely, reserved but no less enthralled. Owain was at least three drinks in -- by Anwyn’s count, and she hadn’t exactly been keeping careful watch -- and certainly looked right at home. “He found someone attractive to buy drinks for,” she explained dryly. “There’s hardly a better reason to stay.”

He grinned at that. “Name’s Eder,” he introduced himself warmly. “I met Owain earlier today. He said the two of you came here looking for cheap land.” He glanced over at Morwenna again, and even though he still didn’t seem unnerved by her presence, Anwyn couldn’t help but comment.

“Does my lioness bother you?”

“No,” Eder answered quickly. “I was actually-- Can I pet her?”

Anwyn blinked, staring blankly at Eder for a moment, wondering if she’d actually heard him correctly. “Can you  _ pet  _ my lioness?” When he nodded, as earnest and eager as anything, Anwyn glanced down at Morwenna, who was currently nuzzling her head against Anwyn’s still hand. She would  _ love  _ the attention, Anwyn knew -- Morwenna acted as if Anwyn never spent any time with her -- but she wasn’t in the habit of drawing attention to the fact that her ferocious, battle-hardened companion was actually a fan of cuddling and ear scritches. “I won’t be responsible if she takes off a hand,” she protested weakly, already knowing that Eder was about to make himself one of Morwenna’s favorite people.

With a bright smile, Eder eagerly reached a hand out to Morwenna. She inspected it curiously, giving his hand a little sniff before nuzzling it affectionately. He beamed down at her, scratching at her chin before turning back to Anwyn. “What’s her name?”

“Morwenna.”

The lioness glanced up at her name, tail flicking appreciatively as she stood to sniff at Eder, curling around the barstool he was on and sitting between him and Anwyn. 

“She likes you,” she admitted with a sigh, glaring down at Morwenna in mock chastisement. “I raised you,” Anwyn said with a frown, shaking her head at her lioness, “travelled halfway across Eora with you, and you betray me like this?”

“You raised her?” Eder paused to look up at Anwyn, his curiosity evidently piqued by the information.

She took a slow sip of her wine, wondering just how long she’d have to put up with Eder’s presence now that Morwenna had his attention. “Yes. The mother was killed by poachers. There were two other cubs, but they didn’t survive.” Anwyn’s frown deepened, and she reached over to stroke Morwenna’s head. “She almost didn’t make it, either. We found her just in time.”

Her answer seemed to placate Eder -- for a time, at least, and then he was asking more questions and Anwyn found herself in need of more wine. “How’d she end up fighting with you?”

“It just  _ happened _ ,” she said tersely. “I like guns, she likes fighting, we both like travelling. We left home about ten years ago and haven’t looked back.”

“Not here for Raedric’s land, then?” he guessed.

Anwyn pursed her lips, grip tightening on her wine glass. “Owain was interested. I just wanted the excuse to visit the Dyrwood.” She searched for an excuse to leave, but before she could work out something that was somewhat more polite than simply walking away, Morwenna made a low noise of contentment and slid down so she was laying at Eder’s feet; her tail flicked happily as she looked up at Eder expectantly, and with a long sigh Anwyn admitted to herself that she wouldn’t be pulling Morwenna away anytime soon. She crossed her arms on the bar and rested her head on her arms, settling in for another round of Eder’s questions.


	2. Prompt 0014: Sick Day [Neria]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set just before the beginning of the game, featuring some grumpy bby neria and a bit of background for her

“You, uh, you alright?”

With a terse smile, Neria glanced up at the caravan master and gave him a little nod. “Fine.” She almost managed to sound convincing, even. Holding back a little groan of effort, she readjusted the bag on her shoulder -- ignoring the way her stomach protested at the sudden movement -- and stepped past Odema, picking up her pace to keep in step with the rest of the caravan.

She wasn’t fine, not really, and Odema hadn’t been the first to notice. He  _had_ , however, been the first to comment, and as much as Neria was trying to be annoyed at the unwarranted attention she couldn’t help but feel grateful that someone in the caravan had pulled their head out of their ass long enough to realize she  _wasn’t_ a walking omen of death and they could, in fact, safely talk to her.

She didn’t much miss home, but she was beginning to miss having a reputation that depended more on her war hammer and bad attitude and less on her looks.

Then again, half the fun of traveling was getting into fights and re-establishing her reputation.

Not that she would be getting into a decent fight anytime soon; the group she was traveling with was made up mostly of farmers and the occasional hunter and besides, Neria had been feeling feverish and fatigued all day. They were close to the Dyrwood, now, according to Odema and their surly guide, Calisca, and Neria suspected she would feel considerably better once they reached an inn. Sleeping beneath the stars had its merits, certainly, but it was about time for a strong drink and a warm bed -- with or without company, Neria wasn’t picky -- and a night out would do a world of good.

“You sure you’re alright?” Odema pressed, falling back into step with Neria. “You’re swaying on your feet.”

She glanced up at him, offering the most convincing shrug she could muster up. “I’ve had worse,” she admitted, taking advantage of his presence both to distract her from the nausea and to jump at the first real chance at social interaction she’d had in days. “Back in Rauatai, when I was still in the army, I once got poisoned by this dwarf. He was an asshole -- long story. But basically, there’s this fish that’s apparently pretty poisonous unless you prepare it right, which he didn’t, and that’s how I spent three days in agonizing pain and ended up blessed by two priests and marked for death by a third. That’s  _also_ how I ended up good friends with a renegade priest of Skaen,” Neria added, letting herself ramble on even though it wasn’t doing much to distract her. “He saved my life, then helped me kick that dwarf’s ass.”

“You’re a soldier?” Odema asked, evidently electing to ignore all of the  _interesting_  bits of Neria’s story. “Huh. Thought you’d said you were a sword for hire.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Neria drawled, as if it were obvious. “On account of being kicked out of the army. Doesn’t really matter though, does it? I’m good with a weapon and can hold my own in a fight.” She punctuated the statement by lifting her war hammer up and letting it rest on her shoulder; in her weakened state, the shift of weight was nearly enough to send her stumbling.

“Guess it depends on what you’ve been kicked out for.”

Neria hesitated, uncertain  how to answer; there was the truth, and then there was the official story, neither of which she was fond of sharing. She wouldn’t ever deny that she’d nearly killed a fellow soldier, but so few people listened when she said it was entirely in self-defense and that her superiors had always had a grudge against her, anyway, because she bore the unfortunate mark of Berath.

“It was a long time coming,” she said finally. “Bad combination. No one takes an orlan soldier seriously, and everybody thinks having one of Berath’s godlike is just bad luck for the army. I would’ve left sooner but, well…” She looked away, staring down at her feet as she walked. “My fiance, she believed in me. You don’t just walk out on that sort of love and positivity, you know?”

Odema didn’t answer at first, the only sounds around them coming from their footsteps and the overlap of the other quiet conversations. When he did speak, his voice was gentler than Neria had come to expect. “What happened to her?”

“I walked out.” She frowned, tightening her grip on her hammer; these weren’t memories she wanted to delve into, not now, but on the bright side at least it was beginning to take her mind off of how ill she felt. “I didn’t want to, but sometimes you have to recognize when you’re pulling down the people you love. Which,” Neria added, an edge of bitterness creeping into her voice, “is why instead of being married and living on the beach, I’m here, traveling alone as a mercenary and feeling like I’m about to fucking pass out or throw up or both.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t think you felt alright. We’ve made good time today -- we can go ahead and stop for the night.”

“Thanks. But if anyone asks, I didn’t admit to a thing.”


	3. prompt 0024: enmity [anwyn & owain]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the twins’ stepdad is a dick, anwyn is suspicious, and owain really only uses his cipher abilities for his own amusement (as usual). set late during the main quest
> 
> ft. a bit of owain/aloth and anwyn/pallegina

Anwyn was something of a light sleeper.

It came with years of traveling Eora with only Morwenna beside her, having to constantly watch her own back. There was a certain… comfort, she supposed, that came when she was staying in Brighthollow, surrounded by friends and walls and guards that would’ve once been thoroughly unwelcome. But it wasn’t, and so when she was startled awake by a muffled noise one night, she was much more on edge than if she’d been out amongst the wilds.

She laid still for a moment, listening for any further sounds that would — she hoped — alleviate her momentary suspicion. There was every chance that she’d been woken by some of the less subtle members of their group, but Anwyn couldn’t quite shake the feeling that whatever had woken her was something _else_. After a lengthy silence, she was nearly prepared to dismiss her own worries, until Morwenna perked up from where she was sprawled in front of the fireplace.

The lioness’ ears twitched at something, some sound too low for Anwyn herself to pick up. Jaw tensing, Anwyn began to reach for her arquebus, then froze; it would be far too loud, especially if there were multiple intruders. She let her shoulders dropped and barely bit back a curse as she gave in and decided she would take her daggers instead. She pulled herself up so she was sitting, motioning for Morwenna to stay put, and leaned over to press a light kiss to Pallegina’s temple. The paladin was as heavy a sleeper as they came, and it didn’t surprise Anwyn in the least that she hadn’t even stirred.

“Be back soon, love.” Padding silently over to the dresser, Anwyn retrieved her two simple daggers; she was far from fond of using them, preferring them to her elegant firearms, but even she could admit that they were the better — _quieter_ — choice here. She motioned again for Morwenna to stay, and as she began making her way to the door she heard a muffled _thump_ , coming from down the hall. Lips pursed with intent, Anwyn slipped out of the room and quickly crossed the hall, scanning the dark upper floor of the inn.

Perched at the corner, waiting for the slightest noise or motion, Anwyn tightened her grip on her daggers; she didn’t like this, didn’t like feeling responsible for the lives of others. It was always easier when it was just _herself_ that she was looking out for, and having found herself part of a rag-tag group that she didn’t entirely despite being around could sometimes feel like such a _burden_.

With as intense as she was focusing, Anwyn was caught off guard at the sudden shouts and the _crack_ of arcane magic, accompanied by a flash of light that bled under her brother’s door. She didn’t even think, then, she just ran, charging forward to Owain’s room and throwing open the door with a grunt, daggers out, only to find that the situation was… in hand, she supposed.

Aloth was backed into the corner behind the wardrobe, clutching his outstretched wand in a white-knuckled grip. Owain, by contrast, was standing on the bed, leaning lazily against the headboard with one hand outstretched, fingers fluttering as one of the trio of assailants slowly and mechanically began searching through the pockets of the other two. Both Owain and Aloth were, to Anwyn’s immense relief, dressed — _small mercies, thank Rymrgand_ _—_ and seemingly unhurt.

“Hello, sister,” Owain greeted her flatly, lips twitching in a barely suppressed grin as the third assailant turned to her and gave a quick, jerky wave.

She scowled up at him, tucking her daggers away and pushing the charmed assailant roughly aside. The first of the two dead attackers held nothing of importance or anything to identify them, but the second had a simple paper with names and instructions; there was no immediate indication of who’d sent them, until Anwyn spared a second look at the envelope that had originally held the instructions. The broken seal held two halves of a simple, easily recognizable symbol, one that made Anwyn tense with rage.

Letting the envelope drop to the ground, Anwyn stood and reached for the still-standing assailant, grabbing the charmed human by the front of his armor and shoving him against the wall. “Why did he send you? Why does he _still_ follow us?”

He gave a lazy shrug. “Dunno, lady. ‘m just a hired killer. Don’t get paid to ask questions.”

She had one of her daggers out and pressed against his neck before Owain called out her name. “Who is it, Anwyn?” he asked. “Who sent them?”

“Lord Hafdan.”

There was a quiet _thump_ as Owain stepped off the bed. He placed a hand on Anwyn’s shoulder; she pulled away roughly, but Owain didn’t relent, pushing Anwyn aside so he could address the assassin. “Return to your lord,” he commanded, voice quiet but with an unmistakable hardness. “Tell him the truth — we killed the rest of his men, and we’ll continue killing whoever he sends. Our father is gone, and Anwyn and I have titles and lands of our own. We have no desire to return to a home we never even knew.”

Anger spiked through her, and Anwyn grabbed Owain’s arm roughly. “No,” she insisted. “Hafdan won’t quit until he’s dead.”

“Things have changed.”

“Not enough. It will _never_ be enough for Hafdan.”

“Well,” Owain said with a shrug, “if you want to go all the way to the White and kill him, be my guest. For now, we let him have the chance to change his mind.” With that, Owain clapped the assassin on the shoulder and led him to the door, letting him make his way through Brighthollow.

“Might I ask,” Aloth spoke up, having lowered his wand but looking no less unsettled, “who this _Lord Hafdan_ is?”

Anwyn let out a string of expletives at the same time that Owain cheerily answered, “Our step father.”

“We were born in the White That Wends,” Anwyn clarified, shooting a heated glare towards her brother. “Our parents were well off, but hardly nobility. There was a land dispute between them and Lord Hafdan. Father fought it, at first, then fled with the two of us. Mother stayed and ended up marrying Hafdan years later. They both think we’ll return in Father’s name, but we have no memories of the place or of our mother.”

Owain nodded. “Exactly my point. Father is dead, Hafdan has his land and more, and we now have _no_ reason to return. It’s better to attempt peace than risk making things worse, wouldn’t you think?”

“Of course not.” With a scowl, Anwyn marched out of the room, ignoring her brother as he began to justify himself. She rounded the corner to her room, and was greeted with a low Vailian curse; Anwyn opened the door to find Pallegina sitting on the edge of the bed and glaring down at Morwenna, both looking still half asleep. “It’s fine, Morwenna, they’re gone.”

At that, Pallegina turned to Anwyn. “ _Who_ is gone?”

She shook her head, placing her daggers on the dresser and staring down at them to avoid Pallegina for a moment. She didn’t want to explain this, not now. “Someone from a very long time ago. He’s been looking for Owain and me, but it’s… taken care of. For the moment.” With a long sigh, Anwyn turned from the dresser and slid into bed, sitting just behind Pallegina and wrapping one arm around her. “I don’t want to worry you with it,” she admitted, voice small, placing a kiss at the crook of Pallegina’s neck and letting her lips linger, whispering against her skin. “Perhaps later.”

Pallegina leaned against her, melting into Anwyn’s touch as her eyes fluttered close. “You’re trying to distract me from questioning you,” she observed sleepily.

“I am,” she admitted. “And it seems to be working.”

She let out a low, contented sigh. “For now, yes.”

 


	4. prompt 0025: small souls [neria, modern au]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which eder’s still a farmer, kana’s still a nerd, and neria’s still a cat person
> 
> For @pillarspromptsweekly 0025: small souls. i had an actual legitimate prompt response and then a modern au happened? but like a modern au with magic? i guess? i don’t even know but tbh i could write about b&b owner neria forever?

She drives by in a beat up Chevy, a dull red pickup that squeals to a stop amidst a cloud of dust out in front of his house. He’s never seen her before, but that’s no surprise lately, with as many new faces as Gilded Vale’s seen in the past few months; land’s cheap, and Edér’s willing to bet that’s what’s drawn her to the Dyrwood.

The driver door creaks open and slams shut, and the noise catches the attention of Penelope, the cattle dog sprawled at Edér’s feet on the porch. Her ears perk up, and she gives an ear-piercing bark as the newcomer walks into view; Edér’s first thought is that he wouldn’t mind a woman like her sticking around, and his second thought is that she looks absolutely miserable in the midday heat. She’s in a dark tank top and cutoffs, with long wind-blown curls that cascade down around her bare shoulders. She gives him a little wave and a bright smile as she approaches, stopping a few feet away from the porch.

“Would you be able to point me in the direction of town?” she asks, holding a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. “I got a bit turned around and it’s been like thirty miles since I’ve gotten cell service.”

He returns her smile and points down back the way she’d come from. “’bout five miles down, it’ll be the first left after the gas station. It’s a straight shot after that. New in town?”

She looks down with a wry little grin, kicking at the dirt and sending up a spray of dust around her hi-tops. “Yeah. I sort of… inherited some property. There’s this old bed and breakfast about twenty minutes down the road — Caed Nua.” She pauses to frown, staring off to her right. “I don’t know how much tourism Gilded Vale gets, but a friend of mine talked me into giving it a shot, so,” she shrugs, “if you’re looking for a premier stay-cation spot, I’ve got rooms open.”

The revelation piques his interest; Caed Nua’s been essentially abandoned for years, as far as Edér knows, on account of it’s reputation as Gilded Vale’s most haunted house.”That’s Maerwald’s old place, ain’t it? S’posed to be haunted. Ghosts in the foyer and footsteps in the attic and the like.”

“ _Trust me_ , I’m well aware.” She rolls her eyes. “The friend who talked me into this, Kana? He’s _really_ into local folklore. I mean, even back when we were roommates in college, he—” She stops mid-sentence, jaw going slack and eyes widening with an empty, unfocused stare. Edér watches for a moment, curiosity quickly turning to worry, before she snaps out of it just as suddenly. “ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes, the word shaky.

“You alright?”

She’s staring down at Penelope, now, her expression one of confusion. “Uh, have you ever heard of Watchers?”

He follows her gaze down to where his dog is still laying beside him, and Penelope’s tail begins to thump happily against the porch as he watches her, trying to determine what _Watchers_ have to do with her. “Guess you’re _real_ new in town,” he observes with an easy smile. “Most folk ‘round here don’t appreciate any sort of talk about soul magic.”

She turns back to Edér, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. “Yeah, well, _your_ dog was _my_ cat in a past life, and I didn’t ask to read her soul in the first place.”

“Hey, I don’t have a problem with it,” he assures her. “’Specially not when it means there might finally be someone around that the rest of the town hates more than _me_.”

“Oh, _great_.” The fire in her voice seems to have waned, and her shoulders drop as she crosses her arms. “Anyway, thanks for the directions. And the heads up. And seriously,” she adds, taking a few steps backwards towards the truck, “come check out Caed Nua. It’s gonna be pretty amazing once it’s all fixed up, and I’m extremely broke and really need this to work out. So. Stay-cation. Bring your friends.”

With that, she slams the door to the drivers’ side and the engine roars to life, dust trailing behind her as she drives off towards town. Edér watches her disappear, then turns to look at Penelope, wandering what exactly was in her soul and if the Watcher would be sticking around.


	5. prompt 0002: reunions [celeste & kelani]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an introduction to the newest kids, celeste and kelani, which happens to fit a very old prompt!
> 
> for @pillarspromptsweekly 0002: reunions, which was about your watcher meeting someone with a soul they knew in a past life. boy i hope neither of these two perma-die in my path of the damned playthrough.

Celeste isn’t sure what stays her hand when they come across the aumaua outside the temple of Woedica. The rest of the Key lays slain inside, but this woman — not as stealthy as she thinks, evidently, with one of the masks of Woedica tucked into a back pocket but easily visible — catches Celeste’s attention in a way none of the others had.

It’s her _soul_ , she knows now, because this Watcher thing is still new to her and she’s still learning; she’d reached out and seen something she hadn’t understood, at first, but now recognizes her _own_ soul among the fragments of the aumaua’s past lives. Decades ago, it seems, the two of them had been cousins and closer to each other than anyone else on Eora, working through heartbreak and tragedy together and sharing in each other’s joy and celebration. They had lived here in the Dyrwood, back in their earlier lives, and she can’t help but wonder if that’s what has drawn them both back in _this_ life.

(It’s a ridiculous notion, of course. The aumaua was brought here on a job for the Leaden Key and Celeste was drawn by nothing more than cheap land and a lack of other options. It’s a coincidence, and she refuses to believe in fate.)

All the same, Celeste is more intrigued than threatened by the woman, and decides to take her back to the recently-finished prisons at Caed Nua rather than simply kill her. It’s Edér who first notices the symbol of Eothas, hanging on a chain around her neck like a noose; she says as much, claiming it’s nothing more than a stolen trinket and for it to be any more would be a death sentence here in the Dyrwood. There’s a heaviness to her voice that makes Celeste doubt the sincerity of her statement, though, and as the aumaua runs a thumb over the tarnished metal Celeste finds herself absently tracing the lines of the waves tattooed on the inside of her wrist as a testament to her own faith in Ondra. So she says nothing, because they’d once been confidants in a life long past — of this she’s certain, though she’s still not sure how she knows — and she herself knows how heavy the burden of beliefs can be.

She doesn’t ask the woman’s name until they’re back in Caed Nua. Edér and Sagani have been calling her _Lani_ for a while, now, but Celeste has done her best to keep her distance; it’s only once they’re speaking through prison bars that she feels confidant enough to remain fair in her judgment, that she won’t give in to this creeping affinity for a woman she’s only met through the tenacity of souls. Her armor has been taken, as have her weapons, but Celeste has allowed her to keep the pendant of Eothas — an oversight, she would say if pressed; nothing but an accident — though the Watcher, by comparison, is in a full set of polished plate armor with an ornamental sword at her hip.

She shoos the guards away, out of the prison, and places her hands behind her back as she stands in front of their only occupied cell. The aumaua is stretched out on the sparse bunk, one hand behind her head while the other fidgets with the symbol of Eothas. “I am Lady Celeste Tavia,” she begins, leveling her prisoner with a hard stare despite the fact that the aumaua seems to be paying little attention. “I am with the Shieldbearers of St. Elgca. My family enjoys a high status and enduring legacy in Aedyr, and I maintain claim over titles and lands here at Caed Nua. The Leaden Key hunts me, and I would know why.” There’s the slightest pause to the woman’s movements, and Celeste adds, “You are in the presence of a woman who understands and appreciates the politics involved in the exchanging of sensitive information. Your cooperation would be well rewarded.”

At that, the woman pulls herself up so she’s sitting, resting her elbows on her knees and leaning forward with a tired groan. “First off, if I wanted out of here, I’d be out. I’m Eothasian — I’ve escaped more than one death sentence since the Saints’ War. Second off,” she continues, finally looking up at Celeste, “I know jack shit, because that’s how the Key operates. My last job involved looking into some noble house to see if they were secretly funding the Sanitarium, if you really need to know. And third, my name’s Kelani and I know a disgraced woman when I see one. Your move, _nobility_.”

It’s a cheap — if accurate — shot, but Celeste gives no reaction to it save for the slight frown that tugs at her lips. “So that necklace _is_ more than a stolen charm,” she observes.

One of Kelani’s hands reaches up — thoughtlessly, Celeste would guess — to run her fingers along the edge of the pendant. “No, I did actually steal it. And it would be more accurate to call me a former Eothasian, actually. Waidwen sort of ruined religion for me, but before that it was my whole life. I was a holy woman, fought in the war, healed people with the strength of my conviction, the whole nine yards.”

“Which side of the war?”

The aumaua gives her a toothy grin. “I know you’re new to the Dyrwood, Nobility, but that’s the sort of information you take to the grave — one way or another.”

“I see.” Memories flash across Celeste’s mind, unbidden, of a pair of orlans mourning the death of a youngest child in some battle long passed; this is a pain Kelani has felt in a past life, whether or not she’s aware of it, and the reminder of their once-linked souls tugs at her. “Perhaps you will prove useful to us yet,” she says slowly, as if she isn’t already beginning to think of how to justify releasing the prisoner.

They’re not related, not anymore, but these days a cousin from a past life is the closest thing Celeste has to family.

 


	6. prompt 0031: inquisitor [owain]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for prompt 31, inquisitor, ft. owain and a tiny bit of aloth fluff
> 
> i have neria's stuff way more developed than owain's, to the point of having two different longfic wips dealing with her past life, so i decided to just do a quick little introduction to owain's past life, who is every bit the clever asshole that owain himself is

_There_ _’s outrage and anger and disbelief in the cries of those gathered in the center of town, but they pay it no mind as they walk away from the crowd. There’s a difference in justice and rampant, senseless violence, after all, and it’s long past time that this town learns it; besides, there are far worse ways to teach this particular lesson than by allowing a (probably) innocent woman go free from the gallows._

_The yells are drowned out by the quiet, measured voice of a man just past a building at the edge of the center square, standing off alone beyond the crowd. (A sharp flash of recognition sits just below the memory, but it doesn_ _’t belong to them. They’ve never seen this man before, and if they’ve heard him speak they don’t remember it.) He’s in a robe, mostly obscured by the long shadows of the growing evening but strangely ornate. A greying beard nearly hides the small smile he gives them, and he watches with deep, thoughtful eyes as they approach. “Those are brave words you speak, priest. Though I’m sure my acolyte appreciates them all the same.”_

_“_ Your _acolyte?_ _” they ask, slowing to acknowledge the man even though they’d really rather continue on home. “You mean Iovara, that woman they all wanted to hang? She didn’t technically do anything wrong, beyond saying things that made half the town hate her. And there’s nothing special about any words I speak,” they inform him. “Magran’s message may be one of ‘trial by fire,’ but that hardly means she’s the one setting the blazes. If the gods truly planned to intervene in our affairs, they wouldn’t need priests and followers to intervene on their behalf. Ask anyone in town and they’ll tell you I’ve been saying the same thing for as long as I’ve been here.”_

_“I see. Interesting.” He levels them with another long, thoughtful look. “And what is your name, priest?”_

* * *

 

“ _Aedelmar_.”

Owain shoots upright in bed, covers flying forward and his chest heaving as the dream — nightmare? — shakes him suddenly awake. He presses the heels of his palms into his forehead, as if to smother the headache that throbs with the sudden change in position; it doesn’t help, and the cipher’s shoulders slump with acceptance as he tries to work through the dream that woke him in the middle of the night. At least this one wasn’t so bad, he tells himself, because if Aloth is still asleep beside him it means there was considerably less thrashing and yelling than these visions typically include.

But Aloth is stirring, albeit far more slowly, and still facing away from Owain as he wakes. “How concerned should I be that you’re shouting out other people’s names in bed?” he asks, but the tired wryness in his voice disappears as he rolls over, and he pulls himself up to sit close enough that their shoulders touch and Owain feels some of the tension already melting away.

“In _this_ case, not at all,” he says, and there’s a little shake to his voice but he steadies it before he speaks again. “I was a priest of Magran in a past life. In… in the inquisitor’s life. Their name was Aedelmar and I think…” Owain shakes his head, trying to work through the strange memories. “I’m not sure, actually. I think they believed in Magran’s _teachings_ but not Magran herself? That’s what caught Thaos’ attention.”

“The inquisitor?” Aloth asks with a frown. “Is that the one whose memories you keep seeing?”

He nods, still attempting to mentally sort through what little information he has on Aedelmar. “I think so. At the very least, they’re the one I saw at the entrance of the city when I saw that woman being tortured. Iovara.” Aloth’s expression softens at the mention of Iovara, the woman whose pain and suffering has been a constant subject of Owain’s visions and dreams. He begins to apologize, or perhaps to comfort him, but Owain is already speaking again. “I think I may understand her importance to this all, finally. She was once a member of the Leaden Key, and she must’ve turned against them and Thaos at some point. She had some… some truth or revelation that caught Aedelmar’s attention, but he’s the one that tracked her down and turned her in. I just can’t _remember_ half of it.”

“Owain.” His name is spoken slowly as Aloth reaches for a hand, a plea as much as it is a comfort. “Over-thinking this can wait until the morning.”

“Yes, you’re one to talk on the subject of _over-thinking_.” He shoots a teasing glance over his shoulder; Owain’s mind is already racing, though, attempting to sort through every detail that he has of Iovara and Aedelmar and Thaos, and he pulls away and slides out of bed. “I just need to get some fresh air and clear my head,” he assures Aloth, rifling through their things and tugging a shirt over his head.

Aloth doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue, either. “Would you prefer company or to be alone?”

The offer brings a small smile to Owain’s lips. “Company, always, but I also don’t want to keep you up any more than I already have. I’m just going to step outside for a few minutes,” he assures him before leaving, closing the door quietly behind him and making his way to the front of the inn. Twin Elms is still busy at night, not the constant drum of a crowded city like Defiance Bay is, but the quiet, steady hum of life that persists even at this late hour. It’s just enough to be comforting, even in such a strange and unfamiliar place, and Owain takes a moment  outside to simply stare out over the city.

He’s never been a religious man, even if he has nothing _against_ the gods. Anwyn has always had more faith than him; for as long as Owain can remember, his sister has venerated Abydon and his craft, and worshipped Rymrgand out of a sense of fear and duty. He debates seeking out her advice, because of all of their religious-minded companions, she’s the most reasonable — Durance’s god killed Edér’s god, Hiravias’ first god punished him and his second god prefers some philosophical bullshit to actual answers, and Maneha’s god is, quiet honestly, not worth Owain’s time.

But maybe Aloth is right, he thinks, and this all can wait until morning.

 


End file.
